Sweet Obscurity
by AnnikaTwist
Summary: a lovely little twisted tale of broken love and crimson lips and hearts that bleed to gold- harry/draco slash- chapter 3 is up
1. Drama Queen

Sweet Obscurity 

Sweet Obscurity   
Disclaimer: Sadly I can not claim these characters as my own, since they belong rightfully to one Miss J.K. Rowling. Also this story contains slash, you know two members of the male persuasion doing particularly nasty things to one another, so if you can't handle that, get out. 

Chapter 1-Drama Queen It was amazing how painful silence could be to someone's ears, how strung with tenacity, how expressive in its stillness. How dangerous. "I'll ask you once again, what is this?" Draco felt paralyzed. It was as if gravity had suddenly intensified and the act of raising his head became too much. It was much easier just to latch his eyes to the floor in a wretched attempt to hide the naked fear dancing deliriously behind his gaze. "Answer me boy. My patience is wearing thin." Pure venom spat between clenched teeth. Draco bit back the urge to shudder in response to the acrid words and cautiously, wearily, he raised his head. He swallowed thickly, feeling a lump stick in his throat. "It's mine." Quiet conviction stitched between words of depicted calm. The man before Draco took a menacing step forward. "Of course it's yours. I'm not stupid. I want to know what it was doing in your room." He hovered uncomfortably close forcing Draco to drop back a step, unconsciously edging nearer to the study room door. Draco swore inside his head; it was just like his father to do routine checks of every room in the Malfoy manor, especially his. Nothing, absolutely *nothing* remained hidden from the sagacious eyes of Lucius Malfoy. Especially under his own roof. Lucius Malfoy was a man of disturbing tendencies. In Draco's mind he was exquisitely deranged: he saw the madness raging behind the cool calculated gaze, lunacy simmering in the irises of tepid, leaden gray. His delusion however, only lent itself to his brilliance. His shrewd cunning was something to be marveled at by even the cleverest of intellects. To the world he was a silent sensible man; to Draco he was purely insane. Draco fought to keep a shiver of fear from distorting his words. Draco generally thought of himself as a dauntless person, with one exception: when under the scrutiny of Lucius Malfoy. Without even looking up Draco knew the book his father spoke of. It was Draco's book, a collection of works by the highly debated and (in Draco's mind) highly ingenious, Oscar Wilde. "I -I was reading it." "How *dare* you bring this kind of trash into my house? Not only is this written by a muggle but a diseased one at that." Draco's vision quivered suddenly with rage. He didn't dare ask the question that burnt like an infection along the back of this throat. His struggle, however, to remain silent must have been fairly visible because his father bent closer still, bitter amusement slightly straining the corners of his mouth. "You know perfectly well what I mean. He was a bleeding faggot, a disgrace to the higher classes of Victorian England. Thank heavens he was a muggle and people left it at that. No one would dare consider that sort of stain crossing over to *our* side. But that is of no consequence, the point is, to find you in possession of such rubbish is intolerable. A disgrace upon the Malfoy name." Draco fought not to roll his eyes (his most timeworn expression of eloquence); he'd been given the talk of Malfoy honor so many times, that with each increasing occasion, it became harder and harder to choke back the urge to vomit all over the floor. "I've tried my best boy, to keep you as you should be, a true Malfoy straight through to the blood, but it's times like this when I wonder..." He trailed off acidly, eyeing Draco with contempt. "I will have no more of this. If I ever find anything of this nature again, I assure you Draco, the consequences for those actions will not be so easily forgotten. I'm letting you off this time, but mark my words, it is the very last of any mercy you will get from me." The words hung ominously for a moment and the air was thick with tangible restraint, as iron eyes drilled inexorably into the impressionable silver irises of the boy before him. He straightened up swiftly and Draco released a quavering breath. His father turned sharply and took several brisk strides in the direction of the fireplace on the opposite wall of the room. The cool embers that lay in the narrow grate were still and lifeless. Draco watched his breath slide in ivory coils past his lips, suddenly aching for a sliver of warmth to dispel the frigidity of the icy atmosphere. His father twitched his wand toward the grate and a little riot of fire erupted there in a dazzle of gold and smoking sapphire. "It's fire you want then?" He breathed, a cold humorless smile contorting his thin lips. Draco struggled not to fall back a step, the momentary joy from the burst of warmth forgotten as his father's words struck a disturbing chord inside his chest. It was disturbing to say the *least*, the way his father seemed always to know what was running through his head. He dismissed it falteringly, in spite of things, telling himself firmly that his father must have seen him shiver. He stepped close to Draco once more, his fingers wound scornfully along the book's spine, eyes glittering eerily in the firelight. Without warning, his hand shot out, fingers clamping like iron to Draco's wrist. He gave it a vicious twist, eliciting a sharp gasp from deep in Draco's chest. He bent his head low to Draco's ear as Draco crumpled forward in agony. "You will take this and burn it. Do you understand me? I want you to walk over there and chuck it in the fire." He ground his fingers tighter into Draco's flesh, giving the delicate bones another savage wrench. A cry caught in Draco's throat, as he ground his teeth in desperation, an agonizing last effort to swallow all symptoms of weakness. He screwed up his eyes in anguish, blond hair quivering wretchedly on his forehead as he began to shake, struggling to shut out the words his father was hissing in his ear. "I want you to watch the ink run, the pages turn black and fall to ash. All his words eaten away by flame, his memory swallowed up in a cloud of sweltering soot, and instead of paper being scorched to oblivion, I want you to picture the flames melting the faggot's face. All of his kind should be erased from this world, hunted down and extinguished. People like them are nothing but a stain, a festering blemish upon the face of humanity." "No!" It wasn't so much a plea, as a gasp clinging brokenly to the ragged current of air that dragged up Draco's throat. And immediately, Lucius let go. Draco sagged, falling heavily to one knee, head bent, breathing hard. The fingers of his left hand were gnarled into a tight fist as he fought to calm the swell of anger that had erupted in his chest. Lucius's manner was alarmingly calm; not a tremor of emotion disturbed the placidity of his features. The burst of anger he had only just expressed was clearly all in falsity. This unsettling and rapid transmission from storm to calm, however, was not unfamiliar to Draco. Lucius, seemingly, had no emotions. His only forms of expression, were all done with a purpose in mind. No act he ever carried out was without purpose. "Well, well, well, what an interesting reaction. I must say I suspected something, but nothing quite so... passionate." The word was unmistakably mocking. His lips curled around it with genuine derision. Draco forced himself to raise his head, stubbornly shaking several chunks of hair back from his eyes where they had begun to stick with sweat. "I can see this situation brings more cause for alarm than I was willing to admit." He furrowed his brow momentarily, looking vaguely concerned. Then with a slight sigh, he turned and tossed the book into the flickering flames. Draco tensed, but caught himself in time, struggling to ignore the spasm of despair that exploded in his chest. Lucius narrowed his eyes for no longer than a heartbeat, then crossed briskly to his desk and picked up a quill to scrawl something in a distinctly businesslike manner across a paper in the center of his things. There was a brief spell of silence and Draco watched with a knot of sorrow tightening in his throat as hungry flames ate a black hole through the center of his book. He felt the familiar ache in the glands of his neck, as the unbearable urge to surrender to tears plagued him. Lucius straightened up. "I have given you a test Draco. You have failed. I don't know yet how deep this problem runs, but it has all ready begun to agitate me. I despise being agitated Draco." His words were crisp, sharp with conviction, painfully to the point. "Your punishment will be this evening at eight o'clock. I advise you once again to be on time. Try not to disappoint me Draco. You are dismissed." Draco swallowed with a painful contraction of sore muscles in his throat, strained, to say the least. He rose to his feet and as quickly as he could manage without looking frantic, he crossed to the enormous glossed doors at the other end of the room, and let himself out. ~ Right. Review (obviously) and the faster you do so, the faster the rest will come. 


	2. Reverie

Html> Sweet Obscurity 

Sweet Obscurity   
Disclaimer: *sigh* I get so tired of this, you'd think I would really just start posting my own stuff. But lets face it... *sob* I love these guys! All right, sorry, *sniff* just can't help myself. They're not mine ok!? They're hers!! They're all hers!!!*races away in tears* (oh yeah, and this is slash) p.s. and laura, you're gonna love this 

Chapter 2- Reverie It was always the same. It began with an endless crusade across deadened, marble corridors; your own footsteps the only noise as the sound resonated away into dizzying columns of nothingness. The pretentious, heavily paneled doors would eye you wickedly as you paused before them, feeling the beginnings of ultimate enervation gnawing away at your bones. The doors were varnished to a sort of glazed brilliance, and it hurt your eyes; a devious yet imperceptible warning of the dangers that lay within. Then, the confrontation. That enormous room, reeking of order, compulsion, and sterilized perfection. It was chilled words and feelings hurriedly laced up and hidden away and porcelain masquerades of indifference, pulled taut across your aching face, but fear, always there, burning in a dark knot inside your chest. The interrogation would come-strings and strings of questions. Caustic, fastidious incisions across your soul; a painstaking dissection of the organ battering tremulously against your ribs. If not a drop of sweat was spilt, and not a tremor disturbed that composed veneer of glassy perfection -you would survive. Then of course the punishment: always eight o'clock, always the same room. The whole system was a faded, well-worn trail for Draco; a painful impression, that wound a sore and sanguineous trail through the caverns of his mind. It was constant abundance of the same horrible emotions, torn out of him over and over and over again. It was always the same, and Draco was tired. Tired in a realm beyond that of physical exertion. It was an ache that transcended the bone marrow, an ache that ran like poison through his veins. An ache, that day after agonizing day, wore him away into the dust, shaving great slivers off his soul, until he felt an emptiness in his breast; a hollow spot beneath his ribs, like a socket in his chest. He longed for release, but there was nothing. Nothing that could have saved him; escape, inevitably, didn't come and this day, it seemed, was doomed to be unfailingly alike *all* the other days. Draco sort of slithered off his bed, casting a miserable glance toward the patch of gray sky outside his window. The sun had all ready sunk mournfully beneath the soot stained smudge of forest that lined the horizon on the edge of the Malfoy grounds. It was a colorless sunset; the iron sky refusing grimly to let even the slightest streak of gold warm the edge of frosted clumps of cloud. Draco scowled at it acidly, resenting its perfect synchronization with the events of the day and its smug ability to match the decor of Malfoy manor to such an agonizing peak of perfection. Just like his father to somehow conduct the sky into a taunting reflection of his misery, and Draco ground his teeth in fury and for the briefest of seconds considered hurling something through the glass just to see a transient representation of what it would look like to smash the sky. He glared at it heatedly for several seconds until he felt the anger drain out of him and the familiar ache of weariness replace the impetuous strain of animosity. He fell back onto the bed to bury his face in his hands, fighting back a whole new tide of misery that rose like bile up his throat. The stench of singed paper bit his nostrils even now, a subtle mockery of the events of that afternoon. His book, his favorite book, his *only* book, in the sense that it was the first that ever really meant anything to him, was gone. Gone in a flurry of ash and the hiss of ravenous flames; eaten away by a fire more frightening than anything tangible or noted by the naked eye. It was the sweltering fever of flame burning in his father's gaze when he looked at Draco and *knew*. Draco didn't even know exactly what his father realized because he hadn't come to terms with it yet himself. However, with one penetrating connection of their eyes, Lucius saw past Draco's facade of tranquility, saw past even the fear, and was looking straight into Draco; and in that moment, Draco became certain that whatever it was he'd seen had most certainly not been something he was meant to. It all started with that book and Draco didn't even remember where he'd found it. All right, that was a lie but it didn't matter anyway. Didn't matter that Draco had seen its tattered spine protruding only slightly beneath a heap of old spell-books in the used bookstore down Diagon Alley. Didn't matter that he'd pulled it from the stack and slid to the floor, forgotten beneath towers of rotted volumes, somewhat breathless as his lips began moving almost imperceptibly with his eyes as they darted hungrily across the page. He fell in love with the words and the meaning behind those words and he found himself surprisingly excited at the prospect of spending more hours absorbed in the ink-smeared pages. He'd slipped the book beneath his robes, never breathing a word about it to a single soul, and it became a part of him; after he'd read it so many times that the ink bled into his hands and seemed to pulse beneath his veins, streaming seamlessly with his very blood. There was such beauty woven in with the antiquated words and a stark veracity like nothing Draco had ever encountered before. He read all the plays first: Lady Windermere's Fan, A Woman of No Importance, An Ideal Husband, The Importance of Being Earnest, Salome. Then he went on to read The Picture of Dorian Gray and all of Wilde's poetry, and then last of all, his letters, where Draco read about the tragic love affair that became his downfall. He had never been a lover of words, but suddenly, it seemed so. He devoured them and when he had finished, he read them over again. And then again, and again. He soaked the poetry into his soul and was graced with a sense of romanticism that to Draco Malfoy, had never before seemed attainable. It was Oscar Wilde's words that got him through the long summer nights locked away in Malfoy manor, but it was an entirely different force that kept him going through the day. It was the past summer where Draco had really begun to take note of his... erm, decidedly unconventional sexual preferences. Whether or not this had anything to do with Draco's new found passion, well that was a different story entirely. The whole thing had come about when Draco had been dragged along to another of his father's high-class, undercover dark wizard conventions. It was a chance for the especially wealthy pure blood families of the wizarding world to traipse about one another's perfectly manicured lawns with martinis in their hands and act as though there was nothing that mattered more to them in the world than a impeccably pruned shrub. Of course it was all just a charade in order to amuse them in their acute boredom, and the real purpose of the gatherings was for the men of the family to surmise about the timing of Voldemort's return to power. Anyway, Draco detested them. He found the whole affair spectacularly ridiculous, and usually ended up wandering around in some garden, suffering from heat stroke as the wool of his dress robes and the constraint of his tie struggled dually to slowly strangle and suffocate him to death all at the same time. The one he'd attended the past July proved to be no different. There hadn't been anybody to talk to and absolutely nothing to do besides downing various combinations of mixed drinks and tugging irritably at his tie, while the false, tinny laughter of women in strings of diamonds resonated across the grounds. He'd ended up collapsing onto a marble bench in a garden near the edge of the property, seemingly doomed for all eternity to be a pawn in the frivolous and asinine games that the wealthy forced upon one another. He was just considering flinging himself through the garden hedge and attempting to apparate off the grounds, when a boy appeared beneath the archway to the garden. Draco's dull gaze had flickered over him listlessly, but darted back only a second later; a small smile contorting his lips. He was extremely tan, his bronzed cheeks flushed copper from too much sun, and the chestnut hair that fell into his eyes was streaked with ribbons of pale gold. His chocolate eyes, framed by heavy obsidian lashes, were creased to two dark slits against the glare of the midday sun. He looked just a few years older than Draco, and equally bored. He sauntered over to the bench, a slight swagger to his narrow hips, and dropped himself languidly beside Draco. "God, it's hot as fuck," he'd breathed in an aura of faded cologne, tearing open the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal the achingly perfect stroke of his collarbone along his shoulder. His dark skin was lovely against the cool ivory of his collared shirt and Draco eyed him with mounting fascination. He shoved his sleeves up his arms and licked his lips, letting out a long sigh that sang of pale perfume and the slightly syrupy scent of sunscreen, smeared along his burnished cheeks. Draco began to drink him in with his eyes, very slowly feeling heat rise up his cheeks, and a strange sort of hunger beginning to ache somewhere inside of him. He couldn't place what was so particularly engaging about this creature, but there was something about him that sucked Draco in, and told him that he very badly needed to be taken advantage of. Seduction was staring Draco full on in the face, and there was no way he could have refused. He turned towards the lovely thing on the bench, trying to bite back the look of devilish voracity that kept stealing into his eyes. He blinked prettily, several times in succession, and twisted his lips into a desperately fetching knot of amusement. "D'you really think the sun is so bad?" He inquired delicately, screwing up his sapphire eyes in an expression of mock curiosity. The boy turned to him, and Draco could feel his eyes taking him in, every inch of him, and suppressed a sanguine smile that threatened to slide over his lips. The boy said nothing for several seconds, his gaze lingering over Draco's slim waist. "Yeah, it's awful." "I suppose it is. It's these wool robes that make it particularly bad." "Yeah," the boy went on in a detached voice, his eyes now dropping past Draco's waist, "that's why I took mine off." He swallowed somewhat tightly, his gaze still fastened to the area between Draco's legs. "Mmm, that's a good idea." With uncommon dexterity, Draco pulled apart the row of buttons that ran partway down his chest, and shrugged his left shoulder away from the heavy fabric, so that it slipped halfway down his arm, pulling the fabric of his shirt beneath away from the ingratiatingly satin skin beneath his neck. He tipped his head back and breathed a heavy sigh, feeling several strands of flaxen hair slide back from his eyes. He heard the other boy's breathing begin to quicken and after a moment he opened his eyes to see a dusky streak of crimson painted beneath his eyes. Draco bit his lip, in feigned affliction and added affectedly from lowered lashes, "You *do* look awfully hot." The boy nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Draco slid a bit closer to him on the bench, and spoke very low, putting his mouth quite close to the other boy's ear. "I could help… if you'd like." The boy had shut his eyes, and nodded very quickly; eyes screwed up in an expression of sincere anguish. Shaking hair back from his eyes, Draco wet his lips, and lifted his finger beneath the boy's jaw, tilting his head back to expose the supple skin along his neck. The hunger in his eyes had dilated his pupils, flooding his irises almost black with fervid starvation. Licking his lips once more, he pressed his mouth against a quivering artery in the boys neck and sucked the skin ardently, feeling his lips pervert into a sated smile against delectable, mahogany skin. The boy gave a shuddering sigh and wound his fingers into Draco's golden hair as his mouth slid up his neck, a stickied reverence of the soft skin along his throat. Draco pulled himself up on the bench so he was straddling the boy's thigh, and arched forward, as his mouth worked along the boy's jaw, pausing to pull at certain soft spots with his teeth, then running his tongue over the slightly ruptured skin to soothe the flush creeping up the boy's neck. Eyes laced with sin, Draco grinned wickedly in response to the decidedly lascivious force pressing into his stomach from between the boy's legs. His mouth lingered on the boy's chin, then whispered deftly across his lower lip, causing just enough friction to drive the boy mad with the temptation of unsuppressed fervor. He gave a sharp cry, as if in pain, and with desperation seeping from his eyes, the boy took the golden head in his hands, crushing their mouths together in a despairing pitch of mortal empathy. His mouth enveloped Draco's and Draco sucked him up like poisoned wine, tongue running over his swollen lips, and drawing him so deep into his mouth that their teeth clinked. His small dark lips trembled sweetly when his mouth had pulled away and he gazed fervently at the other boy's broken lips with studded eyes of ashen silver. Draco stepped into eyes veiled with devotion, and bit his lip, in a striking parody of innocence, before taking the boy's wrist against his mouth and glorifying in the tremoring pulse with sultry absolutions from those stained and aching lips; delighting in his violation of the boy's wildly shuddering heart. It was only moments again before the boy could stand it no longer and smashed their mouths together once more, drinking Draco in with bitter sweet despondency as his hands moved hungrily along the back of Draco's neck. He held their mouths together, with his hands clasped to the back of Draco's head; his eyes growing wide and tortured with pleasure as Draco ravished him with his lips. His amber rimmed eyes swelled with tears and Draco drank them off his sunburnt cheeks, reveling in the taste of salt on saccharine stickied skin. Then their mouths continued to make fervent love and it was delicious and heartrending and desperate and with a sumptuous cry of 'fuck', the whole thing spiraled into adulterated ecstasy. It was a symphony of delirium in its sweetest form, a tangle of heartbeats and kisses soaked in sweat and coconut oil. Heat rose like a rash along Draco's cheeks and surrender was evident in the decadent thrown back curve of his neck, hair falling from his eyes to stick to his temple as a sort of strangled current of air was drawn into aching lungs, bruises blossoming from the compulsion of a dire kiss. An urgency of the mouth and a pleading of the eyes and then obliteration as Draco sucked him till his mouth ached with sweetness and his eyes spun with stars. *** It was a long time before Draco emerged from those gardens, with hair falling into his eyes, his shirt on twisted and fever in his cheeks. He was a bit breathless as his father led them away home beneath the sinking sun, and he could still remember the feeling of the boy's eyes boring into his back as he disappeared over the grounds, clearing the last traces of sunblock from his mouth as he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. Even now, in his room, as the days turned chill with the approach of autumn, he could shut his eyes and *taste* him all over again; remembering the faint despair in tarnished amber eyes as he breathed a kiss into his ear and went away. A pensive sigh and the harsh reality of stone biting into his palm pulled Draco from his reverie. He turned his eyes towards his window and saw the sky had nearly faded to darkness; the stark fingers of trees painting Cimmerian veins against the dusky canvas of approaching night. He hauled himself to his feet, a stiffness all ready forming in his limbs, as if his body was trying to send signals to his brain; a last desperate message in an attempt to keep him from going tonight. Pushing a handful of hair back from his eyes, he paused by the door, feeling suddenly sick. Eight o'clock and another night just like all the others. His pulse had all ready begun to throb loudly in his temples and he wondered frantically for a moment if there could be a chance of escape. Maybe he would trip on the way down the winding stone corridors and his father wouldn't find him again for several days, but as he put his hand to the knob and felt it slip with a faint glaze of sweat, he knew, with the expectations of tonight, that he couldn't afford to make another mistake. ~ muwha, awfully steamy wasn't it? well I'd like to think so anyway. do review, tell me what u think of draco's little interlude and well, anything u'd like. I'm all ears. the next part is coming soon if u'll only review, so u know, do. until next time ~ annika 


	3. Devil's Agenda

Sweet Obscurity 

Sweet Obscurity   
Disclaimer: Not mine. Hers.*points to J.K. Rowling* nough said. Warning: There is of course slash in this story, but ALSO if you do not tolerate violence well then please do not proceed because… well, things aren't very pretty. 

broken moments in time  
could still shine  
but they're getting old  
if you could see the world  
with my eyes  
you'd be so surprised  
at what you'd know so, if you see my angel of light  
with her sweet wine  
could you let me know  
because I think she's gone again - the tea party (they are exquisite) Chapter 3- Devil's Agenda Darkness glazed the edge of Draco's vision as he made his way soundlessly down the seven narrow steps he knew so disgustingly well. The polished door knob throbbed at him through the blackness- a smear of complexion against the canvas of ebony shadows that hung shivering in the dim light. The darkness was thick, compressing his eyeballs and bringing a distinguished ache to the insides of his throat because he felt he was walking through his mind, gliding through tarnished memories that were so familiar they pulsed restlessly in his very blood. The familiarity, however, did nothing to quench Draco's fear. It merely added a sickening shade to the pallor of his emotions, a nauseating pitch to the depth of his terror, like the faded traces of dried blood turned black, staining the severed arms of a person too weary for the synchronized monotony of every day life. Draco felt fear stirring in his chest, like an infection in his lungs and he longed to cough, to dislodge the disease so near to his blackening heart. He could taste it, poisoning his insides, and he knew with a desperation he couldn't explain that he needed to get rid of it, to purge himself of it before he descended into the nightmare, because his father would sense it, would smell it, like a contamination on his breath. The shadows alongside the door seemed to be deepening in blackness and he knew suddenly he could not spare another moment. He screwed up his eyes and tried fervently to suck all traces of fear deep inside him, as he drew a breath like ice into the very pit of his lungs. He ran his tongue along his lips, so dry he feared they would split, and raised his hand to the door before him. However before his knuckles could graze the wood, the door swung open and Lucius stepped from the shadows, forcing Draco to lock his knees from falling back a step as his heart shot into his mouth. A note of vague irritation flickered in Lucius' gaze before his eyes fell on Draco. His lips coiled crookedly with acid amusement. "I so feared you would be late. And dear Draco, let me assure you, it is a good thing you're not. I'm in no mood for insolence this evening." Draco watched his eyes as he spoke, like two sockets in his skull, swimming with darkness and the ill-timed stench of death. Lucius turned on his heel and crossed to the center of the room. Draco followed, his footsteps mired in dread, a slight tremor corroding his spine as the door shut silently behind him, seemingly on its own. The room was as it always was. Composed entirely of stone, it remained sullen and silent; grim and awash in a sea of gray. The harsh monochromatic walls of slate bit into Draco's vision, inspiring an ache in Draco's retinas that reminded him sharply of every moment he'd spent in this room. Every blistering, heart-rending moment, slicing into his chest like needles seared with venom, each memory so agonizingly *fresh* and exquisite in the intensity of the agony he'd experienced. With each breath came a new memory, a different humiliation and when he shut his eyes the images burned against his eyelids, branded there in smoldering shades of crimson and coal colored soot. "Wrists behind this evening." His father's voice cut into his tortured swell of memories and Draco realized his feet had led him to the center of the room. He detested the temperance in his father's tone, the quiet ease flowing through his words, like strings of gathered silk. It was all so second nature to him, so *blasé*, nothing more than a necessity, its importance hardly compensating the time lost and energy extracted from his exceedingly busy day. Cold dread began to filter like liquid iron, into Draco's stomach as his father's words sunk into him; realization sending the blood slithering through Draco's arteries into torrents of manic terror. *Wrists behind?* Draco felt something cry out inside him, as panic rose in a swollen tide against his heart. The worst of the two commands by far was for him to bring his wrists behind his back. If he had been asked to keep his arms in front it wouldn't be so bad. That request lessened the severity of the punishment by a degree. It was a brazen rarity for him to draw his hands behind - a gesture designed to punctuate Draco's falteringly counterfeit grasp on control. Soundlessly he slid his arms behind him, his head bent forward slightly so that several strings of gold slipped forward and hung, shivering in his eyes. He tried to swallow, but found he couldn't; his throat so dry it ached and tasted of rust-- that metallic bitterness so closely associated with bleeding; bleeding on the inside when the dying starts from within and works its way out. He knew the part that came next, knew it as well as the feel of his own heart in his chest. Lucius pulled his wand into his fingers as if from nowhere and let out a small, irritated sigh. "Turn *around* Draco." Annoyance pervaded the placidity in his voice, as Draco turned so that his back was to his father. "Really I'd think you'd know all this by now. After all these years…" He smirked, his lips twitching with derisive amusement. A sour note of defiance spun black along his insides. He hadn't forgotten. "Manicam Inice." Cords shot out the end of Lucius' wand and coiled themselves around Draco's wrists. It was evident they were magical as they took on the frozen, unyielding contours of genuine metal. Thin, sharp bands of iron cut into Draco's flesh, the brazen strips stinging slightly as they grated against the bone in his wrist. Draco didn't flinch. He was so nauseatingly jaded by the whole affair. He just shut his eyes for a heartbeat, willing it to be over quickly. Lucius took a step around Draco, so that he was no longer facing his back. "I think," His voice had grown soft, words pearled with danger, "you know why you're here Draco." He was pulling on the gloves – very slowly, precision in the flick of his wrist as he smoothed the leather over his knuckles. They were dragon hide, spectacularly expensive. He only used them when dealing with things he regarded particularly beneath his station. It was as if the layer of thick, velvety hide stole the stain from his fingertips so that his porcelain countenance could never be tainted with such utter filth. Lucius went on, words sharp with rancor, hidden beneath a thin veneer of self-restraint. "You remember Draco as I told you this afternoon, I *detest* being agitated. And your antics with that book," He shook his head softly, eyes dark with distaste, "very nearly sent me reeling in the direction of irrepressible aggravation." He was circling Draco now, his hollow footsteps the only noise in the little cell, save Draco's breath- shallow and coming faster and faster from his lips. He stopped again once he was facing Draco and gazed down at him malignantly with his poisonous eyes. Draco said nothing; continuing only to feel sicker and sicker. "However, that is not the main reason for our meeting here tonight. There is a little matter I've been meaning to discuss with you for some time." He pulled something from his robes, a whip with a heavy mahogany handle that glistened strangely in the dull light. Draco felt his insides churn wretchedly in lurid recognition. Behind his back, he wound his fingers desperately into fists as the twine sent raw, electrical burns up and down his arms. Lucius ran a leather ensconced finger along the handle of the whip and regarded Draco heavily for several moments. "And before we begin I have a few questions to ask of you." Draco could feel his palms, now slick with sweat and his arms twisted behind his back began to shake, ever so slightly. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you boy." The first veritable note of derision rang through his words as he took the end of the whip and brought it beneath Draco's chin, pushing it upward in agitation. Draco felt his eyes rise, almost unconsciously to meet his father's gaze and once again felt his entrails chill with horror. Behind the emptiness in the irises of moldering gray, he could see death festering in the dim shadows, rotting eerily, as a requiem fallen to dust. "Question number one," His voice like satin, wet with blood, "How old are you?" Draco's throat stuck. "Sixteen." His words hoarse, and crusted with dread. "Precisely. Sixteen years old. Do you know what happens when a boy turns sixteen Draco?" He shook his head mutely, more hair sliding into his eyes. "When boys turn sixteen certain things begin to happen. They begin engaging in sexual activity, generally with a member of the opposite sex. Do you follow me Draco?" He nodded tightly. "This is normal." He was circling Draco again, his hand flickering up and down the handle of the whip compulsively, like an itch in his fingertips. "Regular human beings regard this as a common and acceptable occurrence. There are certain boys however who..." He trailed off, feigning contemplation. An eerie smile lit his features as he seemed to find the proper word. "Certain boys who are *diseased* in this respect. They seem to think it's acceptable to do these things with a member of the same sex. Boys with other boys." He paused on Draco's left, bending close against his temple. He took a fistful of flaxen hair and pushed it back from Draco's ear. He bent low over Draco's shoulder, his voice like death in Draco's head; his whisper, a fervent hiss of authority. "I can assure you Draco, it's not." Draco shut his eyes and felt the ache in his wrists pulse deep into the marrow of his bones and a sickness shuddering inside him as he stood and fought to keep the shivering out of his breath, and stay the unnatural rhythms of his dilating chest. Lucius went on, his breath noxious against the back of Draco's neck. "Boys who do this are *sick*. Some say it's something wrong in the child's mind. I know, however, that is simply a disease. In the mind, yes. An infestation in the very brain. It is simply decay. Part of them has begun to rot, and needs to be torn out, chopped off, like a gangrenous limb. Like lungs caked with tar and ash, the mind needs to be cleansed of this filth, of this detrimental squalor. And when they say it is incurable they are gravely, irrevocably mistaken." His words hung for a moment in the air, glistening with repugnance and distorted with distaste. Draco suddenly felt the unbearable urge to cough and bit his lip in desperation. Lucius straightened up, his voice once more a broken velvet. "Question number two. Have you ever," He took a step around to face Draco, "engaged in this type of behavior with a member of the same sex?" For a moment Draco feared he was going to faint. The walls wavered suddenly, a pulsation in time with Draco's heartbeat throbbing along the arteries in his wrist. Then the next moment, they seemed to melt, as oily ribbons of liquid grey ran down into bubbling, grease-filmed puddles, making an island of the space where Draco stood and he shut his eyes feeling trapped. He could feel the sweat gathering on his brow and a drop ran suddenly down his temple. He knew, he *knew* his father could never, ever know the truth, that this was only his assumption and this was the moment when he had to lie exquisitely through his teeth. He ground his jaw together, feeling the bones beneath his eye shift, the most imperceptible mark of defiance as his jaw clenched in grim determination and he rose his chin in a last silent shriek of defiance, feeling his sweat-soaked hair slide back slightly from his eyes. Miraculously, he found his voice. "No." *Crack* There was the terrible sound of bone giving way beneath something dense and immeasurably unbreakable as the mahogany handle of the whip came ricocheting into the side of Draco's head. He staggered several steps forward, teeth set deep in his bottom lip. "I'll ask again. Have you ever engaged in sexual relations with a member of your sex?" Draco caught his breath, forcing the word to sing with sincerity. "No." *CRACK* Much harder this time, direct contact with the left side of Draco's face. He felt his cheek split as something oozing warmth pulsed down the collar of his shirt. His left ear was singing shrilly to itself as the click of Lucius' boot heels against the stone began splintering every nerve ending in the left side of Draco's face. He hissed a fervent prayer inside his head and tried desperately not to smell the blood. "I detest liars Draco. I would have thought you knew that. Let's try again shall we? Have you ever-" But now Draco was feeling panic replaced by a raw and impetuous anger. A black and festering hatred for this man's ability to control every breath that passed from Draco's lips. He cut him off mid sentence, little opal teeth gnashing around the one sharp word. "No." This time there was a crunch. It was the unmistakable crunch of a bone that has shattered in one section, a rainbow of fragmented shards of marrow, now embedded in a purple meadow of mottled flesh. He had not meant to make the noise, that dead give away to all the humanity that still boiled in the furnace of his heart, but the gasp cut deep, deep into his lungs and was so loud that Draco felt his eardrum break. The room swayed once again, as the wall slid suddenly down to the floor, and the wall shifted up to darken the ceiling. Unconsciousness was a little cluster of emeralds hovering just beyond Draco's straining fingers and he longed to cry out as it skittered just beyond his reach with a glistening sigh. He knew that Lucius would not allow him this prize, he dragged it farther and farther on a ragged string of silk, from the lust in Draco's eyes. He then felt for a terrible moment that he might vomit all over the floor when he felt the bones in his mouth go loose; the leather gloves cracked against the mahogany handle and the room bled to stillness. Draco heard the question repeated and he shook his head with ferocity, eyes watering painfully from the slits cut into his lip. For a moment Lucius said nothing and Draco shut his eyes in soundless anguish, feeling his cheeks flush with sickness as he waited for another blow. He could almost hear the calculations in Lucius' head, the deranged whispering cutting up the caverns of his mind, but he was not prepared when Lucius' hand shot out, fingers winding spitefully through his mane of gnarled gold and the feel of his scalp beginning to tear away from his skull as Lucius slowly and vindictively began to pull. "I'm afraid this isn't working Draco. I must not be getting through to you." A slender sigh passed from his lips, adding only the dimmest of emotions to the emptiness in his words. "You really are the most difficult child at times. I can't begin to think what to do with you." His fingers were twisting ardently now, wrenching gold away from the darkness in Draco's cheeks; the only expression of his madness in the tautness of his narrow fingers. Draco's mouth fell open and his knees began to twist under him as he sank slowly to the slate. Then he clicked his teeth shut and ground them slowly together in a wretched parody of frustration, unable to voice a cry to his real emotion: sheer, rending agony. Lucius went on. "But maybe it isn't your fault. Maybe it's *you* who've been taken advantage of." He'd stopped tugging and took a few strands of Draco's hair and let it slide between his fingers. "Maybe you couldn't help it. Maybe you're far too lovely for your own good…" He reached down and took something out of his robes, a little knife set in emerald and pearl, and he took a chunk of Draco's hair and very quickly, made a slice at it; it came away in his hand. Draco was breathing very hard now, head bent forward, teeth chattering with despair. Most of his hair hung into his eyes, damp with sweat and sticking in his eyelashes. Lucius took another piece and cut it off. "No wonder boys feel drawn to you. You look so much like a girl it's disgusting. Perhaps…" He paused, and Draco could feel his lips coil into a sordid smile. "Perhaps we can eliminate temptation." Lucius now took a handful and chopped it away, then another and another, and he continued at an unbearably measured pace, hacking the gold from Draco's skull with his little silver blade. Draco suddenly felt like he had been torn open, as all his hair began to fall away, white gold and platinum silk severed from his head and a tremendous, shuddering sob rose up in his chest and rent open his lips without making any sound at all. Lucius stopped when all of Draco's head was bare and stood up. He walked around to the front of Draco and bent down to where he knelt on the floor. He took Draco's face between the gloved fingers of his right hand and squeezed Draco's jaw. Draco didn't want to open his eyes. He took the knife in his left hand and very slowly made a deep gash along Draco's right cheek. Draco sucked his breath in sharply and his eyes welled with pain. The cut wasn't very long, but Draco could feel his veins slice open at the curving bone beneath is eye. Warm blood rose from the welt, painting roses in the presence of ash-of cheeks previously all sucked of complexion. Lucius took a finger and scraped it along the cut, till the dragon hide was dark with blood. He held it up to Draco's face and began speaking unbearably soft, so that Draco felt compelled to open his eyes. "Do you see this?" Draco blinked dizzily. "I want you to know Draco that lying to your father will get you nowhere. Lying will only bring you this." He took the cool blade of the knife and pressed it against the wound. Draco shut his eyes and hissed in agony. "Now I want to ask you one last time. Did you engage in sexual relations with *another* *boy*?" At first Draco could say nothing, only feel his jaw ache from the pressure of the gloved hand, but as his father brought the knife once again to his opposite cheek and began to make an incision he felt he could not bear it anymore. Eyes now glittery with unshed tears, he squeezed them shut and nodded his head. Immediately, the pressure on his chin was released and Lucius quickly stood up. The tears ran diamond patterns down Draco's cheeks and he released a quavering breath, ribs still shuddering in shock. Taking a step back, Lucius turned around, then all of sudden spun back toward Draco hitting him dead-on in the temple with the dull end of the whip. Tears blurring into blood, Draco fell forward to the stone; strangled gasp choking out into a sob. He had lost control now, mouth twisted soundlessly open, tears squeezing silently from his screwed up eyes. He writhed over onto his side and felt his cheek dip into a pool of his own blood; the wires round his wrists were beginning to cut deep and suddenly his world was plunging into hell. Lucius crouched down beside him, staining the air sick with satisfaction. He took Draco's ragged head in his hands and began whispering to him in soft, stilettos. "Hush my love. Shh, quiet. Hush my pretty little Draco, shh." He dipped his head low over Draco's and taking his wand, he unbound his lacerated wrists. "Quiet, my love, quiet." That voice drew up something deep inside him and Draco began to retch, tears running noiselessly into his mouth. "Shh, shh." Lucius pulled Draco up against him and Draco smeared snot against the front of his robes. "Don't make a sound my love. My pretty little Draco…my pretty little Draco…" And then he was standing up, dragging Draco with him and Draco was choking on his own bile, coughing and coughing, knowing this was the part that he dreaded every day with every breath he drew into his lungs. Lucius' fingers were claws in Draco's back and with one violent motion, he spun Draco face first against the wall. Draco was sobbing now, beyond control, eyelashes matted with tears, his throat a snarl of mucus. His cut up cheek was ground into the stone and his fists were coiled limply above his head, the blood now streaming in ribbons from his slashed wrists. He could hear his father's voice, far, far outside his head, ordering him to tie his wrists into the straps above his head. He heard him but he couldn't bring himself to do it, he just slid weakly part way down the wall- emotion mangled in his eyes as his face crumpled with sorrow. With a violent motion, Lucius strode forward, mashing Draco up against the wall, his breath sickeningly hot on his bare head as he lashed Draco's arms into the bindings. Then Draco tried to steel himself against the thing he dreaded more than anything in the world; and his mouth for a moment sagged open, lip crushed into the granite. He waited for an infinity of lurching heartbeats, tasting his pulse in his broken mouth. And then, it came. The first stinging lash of the whip against his back, and he winced, his eyes opening wider than he'd ever remembered. There was a long pause and then the second came and Draco felt his body heave in response. Then the next came. And the next. And the next. Until there was a steady rhythm of singeing, searing, severing strokes and Draco felt that blood was leaking from his eyes and salt water from his wounds because the burning, he found, was too much to bear. He could *see* pain now, a glittering sea of blood and venom, lace woven waves of palest gold crushing rubies onto blackened shores. It was agony, raw and explicit and ravaging as he felt a sucking inside himself and the rhinestone waves drew him down into their net of sickness and the sky spewed darkness against a mesh of tarnished amber. His eyelashes stuck with blood and his mouth was clotted with it and it blackened his insides as it ran all down his throat. He sobbed dry, heaving, shuddering sobs without a sound and felt himself melting slowly into the wall, his heart rotting with rank and violent despair. And then after some time, it stopped. Lucius took a step back, slightly breathless, and wrapping the bloodied leather thongs around the handle, he tucked the whip into his overcoat. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it, with painful precision, along his moist forehead. He cleared his throat and straightened his collar and flicked the cuffs of his sleeves down over the dragon-hide gloves. He turned swiftly towards Draco and began to speak "I want you to clean yourself up Draco. Tomorrow noon we're having dinner with the minister and his family, I except a great deal of *flattery* on your part, do you understand me? Exemplary manners will, of course, be expected. You are after all my son, as spectacular as that fact may be, and I want you to be presentable. No *hints* of earlier activities Draco. And also, I need you to stop looking so hideously effeminate. Trim those filthy eyelashes if you must, just do something to quell that nauseating tide of girlishness you seem always to exude. I believe that's all there is to be said." While he was talking he'd conjured up a small bowl of water and clean white cloth. He left them on the floor beside the door. His hand was on the doorknob, when he seemed to remember something and came back across the room to where Draco sagged against the wall. He pulled his dazzled, little knife again from his robes and stood very close beside Draco. Eyes gone black once more, he bent down next to Draco's ear and spoke very low, in a voice throbbing with something that seemed to rupture the inside of Draco's mind. "I want you to know Draco that this battle is by no means done. I only pray you've learned something from this. Keep your foul legs together you disreputable little slut and know that this is only the very slightest of punishments I will be forced to inflict upon you if you keep this up. Think of this as strike one." And he took the knife directly beneath Draco's jawbone by his ear and made a slender cut. "Remember Draco, I'm keeping count." He reached up and loosed Draco's wrists from the bindings, then he turned very softly and went away. ~ *sigh* I'm sorry to torment Draco so, but you must understand it's all in mind of the story. things will get better, and Harry will arrive shortly. you've just got to be patient. oh, and don't you dare forget to review or I'll be forced to do more unspeakably terrible things to Draco. haha, there. I love blackmail. luv always, annika 


End file.
